


he will be loved

by mayinthebackyard



Category: Tiny Pretty Things (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayinthebackyard/pseuds/mayinthebackyard
Summary: Oren doesn't love himself, but Shane loves Oren.
Relationships: Oren Lennox & Shane McRae, Oren Lennox/Shane McRae
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. 18

_beautiful and only eighteen, he had some trouble with himself_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

Every evening at exactly seven PM, after all dance classes had wrapped for the day, Oren slipped into the bathroom with three things: his black notebook, a pen, and determination.

Every day, Shane followed far behind Oren until he made it to the bathroom, where he stood outside Oren’s locked door and listened to sounds of gagging as his friend took all of the day’s frustrations out on himself. 

_ What a fuck up,  _ Oren thought between bouts of shoving his fingers down his throat.  _ Can’t even hold it together for a fucking day. _

Shane stood idly, and during the sparse moments of silence, knew that Oren’s mind was racing with thoughts of numbersandfoodandcaloriesandfatandnumbersandfoodandcaloriesandfat. 

Sometimes, Shane’s lack of action in these moments made him wonder if he was a bad friend–but if there’s one thing in this world he knew, it was Oren. He was certain a mere mention of what was going on would send Oren into a frenzy that would only result in more starving, then more eating, followed by more guilt, and finally: more throwing up.

And so, on one side of the door sat a desperate Oren on his knees, his bruised knuckles red as they clenched onto either side of the porcelain, heaving determinedly into the toilet. His green eyes were rimmed with tears, but his brows sat steady, in a state of resolve. His only objective in that moment was to bring himself one step closer to being a tiny, pretty thing. 

His black notebook sat openly beside him with a pen nestled in the center. The bottom of the page read simply: 'too many chips with lunch, 200 cal over goal. Fixing it.'

Shane leaned against the bathroom wall solemnly, wondering how his friend could possibly think he needed to hurt himself to feel okay. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Oren’s disarming smile and laugh, of the way he danced so intentionally, so gracefully. He thought of Oren’s body, and how he was destroying something so divine. 

What a shame it was that on one side of the bathroom door was Oren, who saw only his own flaws and thought so lowly of himself, and on the other side of the door was Shane, someone who, for years, had seen every bit of him, and still thought he was absolutely beautiful.


	2. he was always there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Oren met when they were 10 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick fyi: this story is based on the song 'she will be loved' by maroon 5; the lyrics are what's written at the beginning of the chapters. I'm just switching up the pronouns and (sometimes) specific words to help it fit the narrative.

_ he was always there to help him _

-

-

-

-

Shane had been watching Oren since they were kids. Not in a voyeuristic way– Oren was his best friend– but as a manner of protection. 

Early in their youths, he had observed that no matter how utterly shitty Oren felt, he never stopped chasing perfection. 

The green-eyed boy was careful and a people-pleaser by nature, but he hadn’t the first spark of perfectionism until he was nine years old and took his first ballet class. Immediately, his instructor took a liking to him–or rather, to his parents’ money. The teacher, Monsieur Pune, had green on his mind as he promised Oren’s parents that he would make a prince out of their son.

“He’s not anything now,” he’d told Mr. and Mrs. Lennox, “But he can be. He has potential.”

“Has he got the right  _ build _ for it though?” Oren’s mother whispered, emphasizing the word  _ build _ as if it held within it a scandal of great magnitude.

“Anyone can develop grit.” Monsieur responded confidently, hoping to persuade the couple out of their bank account’s contents. He didn’t really know whether Oren Lennox could be great or not, nor could he find it within him to care.

Mr. Lennox chuckled and chimed in. “No, no, you’re misunderstanding. What she means is, the kid’s a bit...chunky.” The man motioned to his son who was a few feet away, sitting straight-backed with an unreadable expression on his face.

“We’ll work on it,” Monsieur replied knowingly.

From that day on, Oren made it his goal to become the best dancer Monsieur had ever seen, if only out of pure spite and determination. He spent hours every day spinning and leaping, treating life as one elaborate dance that he wanted– no, needed– to be the best at. 

He danced his days away until he was invited to try out at the Archer School of Ballet. In the middle of his audition, he noticed another boy, about his age, watching him with intrigue. The boy had bleach-blonde hair and some of the biggest, brownest eyes that Oren had ever seen. 

The boy came up to him after the audition session ended. “You did really good,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Shane.”

-

As the years slowly passed, Oren continued to develop a sense of fastidiousness that pleased his instructors greatly. However, this trait's prevalence meant that Oren kept himself on a tight leash both on and off the dance floor. He regulated his emotions and words with the same precision he did his leaps and dégagés.

As Shane found himself more and more drawn into Oren’s orbit, he learned that perfection came at a price, especially for someone as  _ driven _ as his Oren Lennox.

As many of his teachers had pointed out, Oren was chubby when they were kids... by ballet standards. In the real world, this just meant that he wasn’t an Adonis at 13– Christ, he’d barely started  _ puberty _ – but as Monsieur Pune had told him that day after his parents left the studio,  _ in the dance world, appearance is everything. _

One particularly warm March day lingered in Shane’s head like a bad cold. He remembered it like it was yesterday. It was, Shane thought, the first time Oren decided to take matters into his own hands. _ _

They were 13 years old, and Shane and Oren were walking down the hallway from their last class of the day when Oren spoke. “I think I should go on a di–”

Shane cut Oren off before he even finished the word  _ diet. _ “Why would you do that?”

“Well, the Madame Duios said–”

“Oren, Madame  _ Duios _ is a total bitch,” Shane reminded his friend. “She’s just cranky today because her husband doesn’t love her. I promise, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Oren furrowed his eyebrows and grinned. “How do you know–”

“Because I know  _ you _ . I’ve known you for three years, and I see you everyday. You’re my best friend in the world. If there was something wrong with you, I would be the first person to tell you.” Shane’s eyes gleamed with tenderness as he continued. “You, Oren Lennox, are wonderful, and I will personally kill the next person who tells you otherwise.”

Taken aback by Shane’s proclamation, red flooded the brunette’s face. He wore an expression of contentment so endearing that it made Shane want to say those words over and over and over again.

Oren swung his arm around the shorter boy’s shoulder, leaned down, and responded. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I was actually going to say–”

Shane waved his hands in protest. “Nope, stop, shut your perfect little–”

“–if you would  _ stop interrupting me," _ the taller boy said, shooting his blonde friend a playful glare. “You’d know that what I was  _ going _ to say is: how do you know she’s even married in the first place?” Shane chuckled as Oren continued. “I’m serious. Who would want to marry her?”

“You’re right, she’s terrible,” Shane continued to laugh as he shrugged off Oren’s arm and gently elbowed him in late retaliation for the  _ interrupting _ comment. “Okay, I’m feeling generous, so I’ll shut up now.”

The dark haired boy smiled at him fondly. “Not forever. Just for a second.” 

After a few moments of silence, Shane spoke again. “Are you gonna–”

This time, in the name of payback, after waiting for just the right moment, Oren cut _ him _ off. “Look,” he started, winking, before becoming more serious. “I just think that it wouldn’t hurt me to lose a few pounds, maybe gain some muscle. Everyone's been telling me to for, like, four years anyway. And in a couple years, we’ll start pas des deux, and this,” Oren lifted his arm and squeezed at the small bit of flesh on his bicep, “needs to go.” Then, he moved his hands towards his face and squeezed the apples of his cheeks, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes as he looked at Shane. “So do these.”

Shane grinned, swatting away Oren’s hands and replacing them with his own. He squeezed Oren’s face with faux-adoration and said, “Aw, but Oren, I love your cheeks. They make you look like such a doll!”

Oren giggled, beet red once again, and swatted Shane’s hands away. “Fuck off.”

Laughing, Shane raised his arms in mock-defense. “Ok, ok. Sorry. But I’m serious, Oren, you look fine. Don’t let these people get in your head,” the blonde said honestly.

Oren shot his eyes toward the ground and responded sharply, “Fine is a strong word.” His tone was joking, but in it, Shane detected a glimmer of seriousness. The two walked in silence for a few minutes before Shane spoke again.

“Hey,” he said as he nudged his friend’s shoulder, encouraging him to look his way. 

Oren turned his head and looked at Shane, expecting him to continue. When he didn’t, Oren nudged him back and responded simply, “Hi.”

For a few seconds, Shane wore a contemplative look. 

“You’re not _actually_ thinking about  dieting,  are you?” he asked, half-jokingly. “Because if you are, you shouldn’t be. Even though you’re more than  _ fine  _ the way you are, you’re still gonna grow,” He poked at Oren’s sides and said, jokingly, “and you still have plenty of time to lose all your cute little baby fat.”

When he heard the word  _ fat, _ like clockwork, Oren winced and shoved away Shane’s hands, a troubled expression drowning over his delicate face.

_ Shane thinks I’m fat. _

Immediately, Shane saw the wheels in Oren’s head turning and, realizing how fucking  _ stupid _ a thing that was to say, spoke tenderly to course-correct. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Oren pushed himself to recover from the blow and mustered a small smile. He knew Shane meant well. “Yeah, I know. It doesn't matter.”

Shane wasn’t sure he believed the green-eyed boy, but after knowing Oren Lennox for three years, he knew damn well that pushing him would result in a mini crisis at best, and a World War II of repression at worst. So, he returned the smile and nodded, feigning relief. “Good.”

Shane hoped that Oren would elaborate on his own accord, but after a few more beats of silence, he realized that it probably wouldn’t happen– at least not in that moment. Shane made a mental note to talk to Oren about it later, when the time was right. 

Then, to fill the silence, the blonde resorted to what he knew best (besides dancing, of course): talking shit. 

“You know, I  _ fucking _ hate the way this school has its hallways set up,” he started. “It’s like someone made a pointed effort to make it as inconvenient as humanly possible to get around, like who the fuck do they think we are? Christopher Co-fucking-lumbus? Actually, I pretty much am. I think I discover a new part of this building every day. I wonder if...”

Oren nodded sweetly along as Shane rambled about everything and nothing. Such was the nature of their friendship; Shane rambled and Oren listened, chiming in when Shane asked him to, or when he had a very pointed opinion on the matter at hand– but mostly, he listened. 

There was a natural sense of give-and-take in their dynamic that had been present from the moment they met when they were both 10 years old. For the past three years, Oren had been the sounding board for Shane’s colorful deliberations, and no one had ever been able to pull Oren out of his head like Shane could.

Today felt different, though. Neither of the boys spoke of it, but both noticed it.

After the  _ fat  _ incident, Shane rambled, sure, but with a hint of trepidation. And Oren listened– always a pleaser– but now, distracted with thoughts of self-doubt. 

They walked like this all the way to the dorms. When they finally arrived at their room, Shane swung the door open and launched himself backward onto his bed, complaining about how cold they kept those  _ fucking  _ rooms.  When Oren didn’t respond during a pause in which he normally would have, Shane lifted himself off his back and leaned his weight onto his elbows so he could look up at his friend. “Oren? Did you–”

Shane’s breath caught and he trailed off as he watched Oren, so entranced that he hadn’t even felt Shane’s eyes, stare quizzically into the mirror and lift both of his hands toward his stomach, gently cupping its front. In a panicky motion, Oren moved his hands quickly to his sides and squeezed at his love handles, sucking in his stomach and turning his body so he could see his profile. He was still in his dance clothes, which meant he could analyze every bit of flesh on his bones through the thin material of his white shirt.

Shane kept his eyes on Oren, puzzled, as he mustered up the air to speak. “Hey,” and when that didn’t work, “Oren?”

Oren blinked, as if snapped out of a trance. He turned quickly to face the mirror, where he could see the vastness of his own reflection in contrast with Shane on the bed behind him, waiting for him to respond. 

Then, rotated his body swiftly toward Shane, leaned back against the mirror, and turned the corners of his mouth into a small grin that didn’t even come close to reaching his icy eyes. “What? Yeah?”

Shane furrowed his brows. “Oren, are you okay? You just stopped responding.” 

Translation:  _ what the fuck were you just doing? _ Shane didn’t really have to ask, though. What Oren had been doing was fairly evident.

The pair were in sync enough for Oren to know exactly what Shane’s question meant, but the blonde boy wasn’t surprised by his friend’s deflection tactics. Oren tried at a joke.

“Well,  _ maybe _ if you’d take a breath, I’d have the chance to respond,” he teased, calling back to their conversation in the hallways at school.

Shane was not impressed. “I’m serious,” he said, hoping Oren would talk about everything, or about anything at all.

Instead, Oren walked forward, laughing, and cupped Shane’s chin. “Lighten up, buttercup.”

Shane raised a mental white flag and returned Oren’s sentiment with a glare that he let linger for an instant before a devilish grin spread across his face. The smaller boy clenched his hands around his dark-haired friend’s shoulders and tackled him, flipping them onto the other side of the bed. The pair rolled back and forth, their youthful voices erupting into fits of laughter as they competed to see who could keep the other pinned down for five seconds first. 

As they play-fought, feigning carelessness, neither of their minds drifted from the heaviness of the previous moments, though both did a good job at pretending that their brains were only occupied by the present.

Between battle-cries and phony declarations of surrender, Oren’s mind stood still, fixated on one thought.

_ I’m fat. _

The fighting slowed as the air reached a sort of stillness and the boys’ bodies faded out of roughness and into a state of serenity. Then, as if he’d read the mind of the fragile boy beneath him, Shane found himself speaking softly. 

“Oren,” he said, gently shifting his body off of his friend’s and maneuvering onto the other side of the bed. Both boys laid facing the ceiling and Shane grabbed Oren’s hand and gently brushed his thumb across it. “You’re not fat, you know.”

This time, when Shane was met with silence, he didn’t try to fill it. Instead, he remained still beside his best friend and continued his thumb’s movements. After a few moments had passed, Oren squeezed his hand in appreciation.

The two boys remained in this pose until they drifted off to sleep. Oren dreamt of a place where everything in the world was so utterly perfect that it physically hurt; Shane's mind wandered to a world in which Oren, instead of squeezing his hand, had pressed it to his lips and kissed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to expand my last chapter into something more. I think the oren/shane pairing pairing has so much potential, and there are hardly any stories about them so I'll be damned if I don't write my own. please comment and let me know any thoughts/opinions you have on this chapter or anything. I'd love to talk with you guys and hear what you think. have a lovely day/night!


End file.
